


The Little Lion

by Strega_VonDrachen



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, F/F, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 03:38:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18864928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strega_VonDrachen/pseuds/Strega_VonDrachen
Summary: Anne Lister is attacked and hurt by an unknown man and refuses to say why or how. Her beloved Ann Walker refuses to be anywhere but by her side. (Inspired by the trailer for the 5th episode, yet to air.)





	The Little Lion

Her face was a bloody mess, in both the pejorative and literal sense. She did the best she could to stopper the bleeding, soaking her cravat, but the pain in her broken nose was making her head spin. And her rage, her shaking fury, only made the hurt worse. 

By the time Miss Lister reached the doors of Shibden Hall, the servants already running out followed quickly by her sister, it was nearly dark and so was her failing vision. She almost fell from her carriage as she was helped down and taken inside. 

“I’m fine, leave me be,” she groused, stubborn and wanting to be alone, embarrassment flushing her cheeks. She was more than halfway up the stair, her family raising a roar of questions behind her, when the world shifted and she turned, swaying and clutching at the railing. Marian was first beside her.

“Someone fetch the doctor,” she called downstairs. 

“Not Dr. Kenny,” Anne mumbled, her hand going to her mouth. She was going to be sick. 

“Not Dr. Kenny!” Marian shouted but then clicked her teeth, chiding. “Anne, there is no one else. You need help.” 

But Anne was already moving again, determined to reach the pot and preserve her dignity. She was concussed and she knew it, even as her vision narrowed sharply as she knelt to vomit. 

After a moment she felt a hand at her back, rubbing soothing circles, another tucking away her loose locks of hair. “Don’t… don’t tell Ann,” she groaned at her sister and was soon falling unconscious. 

Though Marian obeyed, with a scandal of this nature, of such apparent violence and matching surrounding mystery, it was hardly a matter of any time at all before rumor reached the ears of Ann Walker. It was not yet noon two days later when she appeared unannounced and breathless at the Lister’s door. 

“Miss Walker, for Miss Lister. If you please.” 

Ms. Cordingley’s eyes were quite large and she bit on her lower lip, unsure of what to do. 

“If you please,” Ann repeated, her tone a mark heavier than before. 

Another moment’s hesitation and Cordingley nodded and led her in. “Miss Lister is resting at the moment, Miss Walker, but I don’t rather expect she’d turn you away.” She knew the nature of their particular friendship, or boldly assumed enough by now to know, and wasted no energy hedging from the truth. Miss Walker was a kind hearted girl, after all. What harm could she do?

At the moment she was following very closely, her head kept level and her shoulders back despite the glint of fear in her eyes. 

“Who is it, Ms. Cordingley?” Mr. Lister called from his chair in the sitting room. 

She looked at Ann, who drew her lips thin, her anxious nerves more evident. “Just Miss Walker… come to visit Miss Anne.” 

Peering around the corner to the sitting room, seeing his balding head over the top of his chair, Ann heard a grumble of a sniff and a softer reply. “Of course. Carry on.” 

Ann had never been up the stairs and, as she ascended behind Ms. Cordingley, she felt a certain stirring of dread within, one far greater than any she had been feeling since the news of Anne’s attack that morning. Turning on the landing, her hand falling to the comfort of her stomach, she asked in a whisper, “Is she… how bad is she?” Kept away, at a distance, hidden, no letter, no word sent, Ann feared the worst things imaginable. 

Cordingley stopped, just shy of the door to Miss Lister’s bedroom, and gave a weak smile. “She’ll be just fine, Miss Walker,” she said quietly. “Lord knows she’s too stubborn to let this slow her down, but the bruises will take some time to heal.” 

Ann steeled herself, nodding and nervously picking at the edges of her bodice. Cordingley knocked gently on the door. “Miss Lister,” she called. “Is Miss Anne able for a bit of company?” 

A creak in the floor board and a chair scraping along the wood, and then the door was open. Marian’s face was wan, dark circles under her eyes, and her hair was hardly done. She sighed, her shoulders dropping with the weight she had evidently been holding up for some time. “Oh, Miss Walker. Thank goodness.”

“...Marian, don’t…” a thin voice intoned from within. 

Ann’s heart leapt into her throat. “Can-- can I see her?” 

“You are the worst sort of invalid, you do know that, Anne?” Marian clucked at her sister and stepped aside to allow passage for Miss Walker. “It’s… not actually as bad as it looks,” she said unconvincingly and watched as the younger woman timidly crossed the threshold. 

Feeling the eyes of both sister and servant upon her, bringing a greater blush to her already heated face, Ann kept her focus on the floor and moved slowly to stand beside the bed. Almost too afraid to look, she glanced up from under her lashes, the midday sun bright on the white bedsheets and deepening the red hue of the quilt that curved and tucked over the form she knew to be her love. Still, she could not bear to look at her face. She feared too much. 

“I’ll… ah… just leave you two to it, then,” said Marian, her tone forcibly bright despite the circumstances. She held hope, even if it was meager. The door clicked shut, and footsteps echoed down the stairs, leaving them alone. Several long moments passed before either of them spoke. 

“Ann… It’s all right.” The older woman’s voice was steady but fragile, as if she too was just as on the verge of tears as Miss Walker. 

Finally looking up, courage summoned from desperation, Ann beheld her face and let out a sob. The back of her hand lifted to her lips, stifling the sound, as she took in the purplish brown splotch that masked her eyes and the swollen bridge of her nose. 

Anne grimaced and held out her hand. “My darling, I’m all right. Come here.” 

Trembling, Ann took her hand in hers without a second thought and brought it to her lips, kissing her knuckles, as she fell to sit by her on the bed. Knuckles, she noticed, that were rough and just as bruised. 

Anne was pulling her into her arms, cradling her blonde crown to her chest and looping an arm about her shoulders. Kissing the top of her head, holding tightly, Anne felt a shudder as the small, tender creature in her embrace began to cry. Her hand continued to be held tightly to her chest and could feel the racing beat of Ann’s aching heart as her tears fell onto her shift, soaking through to her skin. For many long minutes, silently, shaking, Ann cried and held onto her hand and allowed Anne to rock her and whisper the softest promises. 

“I’m all right, Ann. I’m here. You haven’t lost me.”

She understood her terror for death. She had been wrong to try and hide this. 

“Why-- why didn’t you send for me? Why didn’t you write?” she hoarsed. 

“I told you, I didn’t want you to worry. I’m fine.”

“No, you are not.” She turned up her face, upset and indignant. One of her hands reached up and caressed, feather light, the sharp line of Anne’s cheek bone up to the edge of the bruise, tinged with yellow. “Your poor, beautiful, face…” 

Anne sucked in a breath and flinched, though not from pain. Beautiful was not often the word used to describe her and the sincerity of its use had caught her off guard. Gritting her teeth, looking down at Ann as her hand retreated, she pursed her lips to fight back the sting of tears leaking at the corners of her eyes and took back her hand. Holding her gently by the wrist, she placed a kiss to her palm. A lone tear slid along her nose, highlighting the damage beneath, and collected in Ann’s hand. 

“I’m not beyond repair,” she said almost laughing, almost sobbing with affection. “And I gave as good as I got, you’ll be proud to know.” She flexed her fingers, the rough bruises on her knuckles a memory of the solid punch she had landed on the man’s jaw. “Another day’s bedrest or so, just to make sure the bump on my head is merely that, and I’m back on my feet to terrorize as usual.” 

Ann offered her a wet smile and a pitiable laugh, the last of her tears falling. “I’m so, so sorry… this had to have been… It’s my fault, for being so, so careless and reckless, so indiscreet with--”

But Anne was baffled. “What are you-- No, Ann, none of this was your fault. Goodness, no!” She held her chin and her gaze, focused and insistent that she be heard and believed. “What happened to me had nothing to do with you. Or with us. Nothing to do with… what you think.” Though, perhaps not entirely. Halifax was hardly Paris.

Wiping her eyes, her brow furrowing deeply, Ann shook her head. “Well, what happened then? Who was it? Were you robbed? Who dared to attack you?” Her pitch rose with every question, and the final was as near a yell as Anne had ever heard from her. 

She licked her lips, momentarily stunned. The energy radiating from the younger woman was like a lit fuse. The spark in her eye, the glint of anger, so rarely seen, was setting Anne’s heart on fire. “You needn’t worry about it. I’m going to handle it.” 

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. For Ann huffed and turned cross, placing her hands on either side of the mattress, pinning Anne beneath her glare. “I deserve to know. Tell me.” 

Anne chewed her lip, unaccustomed to being so commanded, but found that she could not refuse her. “It’s as I have said, and I cannot stress this enough; this had nothing to do with us. And… everything to do with coal.” 

Ann blinked, waiting for more to the answer, and blinked again when none came. “Coal.” 

“Yes. Coal. I have mentioned before, have I not, that I am now in the business?” 

Ann’s nose scrunched. “No… I don’t think you have.” 

“Surely, I must have. But, no matter, it’s dull dirty business anyhow. I’m selling, or trying to sell, my plots and there have been some--challenges-- in getting what I want.” 

Ann was quite still, staring at her, her mind turning over all the reasons coal could have led to seeing her beloved so bandied and bruised. “Anne… who was it that hit you?”

“I didn’t get a great look at him.” 

“Please don’t lie to me.”

Anne felt the sharp blow of her words, soft spoken as they were. Ann had cut right through her. 

“I’m not-- lying.” 

“Anne, I will find out even if you don’t tell me, and so help me if it’s anyone who works for my cousins, I’ll--” 

Anne had to lick her lips again. “I swear to you, I don’t know who the man was that fought me. The coward had pulled up his scarf. But--” 

“But?”

Anne deflated, sighing. “You must promise not to involve yourself.” 

“I will make no such promise.” 

Anne’s heart was beating like mad. Miss Walker could be utterly infuriating and absolutely captivating in the exact same moment. She sighed and relented and told her the whole story, down to the last calculated expense and diversion tactic. “I was leaving the counselor’s office when I was jumped… pulled into an alley.” In broad daylight. The audacity had been the greatest shock, a kick to her pride that hurt as much as the punch to her face, and just the retelling of it made her voice quaver anew with rage. 

The telling took some time, in which Ann had moved, repositioning to lying on her stomach on top of Anne, her arms folded beneath her chin. Her expression after it had all been said was remarkably blank. Her stormy blue eyes, however, were a window to her thoughts and Anne could read them plainly. “Please, Ann. Let me handle this.” 

She only continued to stare, her jaw tightening. 

“Ann. I’m serious.” She took her face gently in her hands, cupping her cheeks. Her thumbs massaged her jaw and to her ears, fingers threading into her hair. “If anything were to-- happen to you-- you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself and I can’t be there all the time to watch over you, so you must promise me that you won’t involve yourself.” Anne’s eyes were wide with fear. The very thought of her delicate Miss Walker finding herself in the same condition she was in was enough to make tears start welling again. “Please.” 

Ann closed her eyes, exhaling, and nodded. She was reluctant but, for Anne’s sake, she would do as requested. 

Smiling and satisfied with her answer, Anne leaned and kissed her lips, softly and brief. She helped her move then, pulling her up higher and resting her head over her heart. Ann snuggled closer, breathing deeply and winding her fingers in her shift, and Anne felt her begin to relax finally. She placed an arm around her waist and a hand at her neck, her long fingers stroking the fine ridge of her spine. 

“They won’t get away with this…” she whispered into her chest. 

Anne’s voice was like a distant ocean roar. “No. They won’t.”

They stayed together, resting and dreaming, until the sun was setting. Ann promised to return the next day, as soon as possible, after church. Anne would be unable to attend and would, surely, be the subject of much chatter even if she wasn’t the most regular of attendees. 

And, indeed, she was. And, as the service let out, no one spoke of her absence more loudly than the foolish Mr. Christopher Rawson. His groom, waiting by the carriage, had a horribly bruised left cheek. Neither man saw Ann close her parasol and march through the remaining parishioners until she was close enough for the fire burning in her eyes to be seen. 

She was well past due at Shibden Hall when she arrived, her hair a flurry and her parasol broken. Still, she descended the carriage with grace, helped down by the young and perplexed porter, and walked with slow dignity into the drawing room where Anne sat waiting under a blanket by the fire. Dressed and tidy, though her bruise was just as horrid, she far more resembled herself now than before and it made Miss Walker smile in delight. 

The porter exited the room, leaving Miss Lister to her guest, with whom she could only gape in calculating confusion, her eyes roving in increasing panic. 

“Ann… your dress is torn.” She tried to stand. Anne rushed to her and bade her sit back down. In the hallway, passing by, Mr. Lister quietly closed the door to the room. 

“Relax. It’s nothing,” she said as if she had found a cat hair on her sleeve.

“Ann, who-- what--” 

“You shan't be needing to worry about my cousin anymore.” 

Anne’s mouth was open, a million questions hanging on her lips. She looked in her eyes, seeking answers, and when she found none she turned to her hands and saw the parasol, it’s handle bent and the fabric ripped. 

Her hands went to her arms, pulling her closer, grasping as if she might float away. “Ann. Oh, Ann… what did you do?” 

She twisted her lips thin, quirking into an all too satisfied grin. She bent, lowering to gaze levelly at Anne’s dark eyes. “I bit him.” 

“You… what?” 

She nodded fervently. “I did. I bit him.” 

“What, with your teeth?”

“With what else?” She pulled back, Anne letting go of her arms. 

She was floored. “You… attacked him?” 

“No, I confronted him.” The distinction was important. “I-- I went up to him, oh, I know you told me I wasn’t supposed to, but Anne the way he was speaking, as if he were God himself, untouchable and all mighty and--” She growled in exasperation, pacing now, waving her damaged parasol about like a sword. “--and he just-- it set my blood boiling, Anne, to hear him speak of you as if you were some-- some sort of pathetic, weak, scornful thing-- and I just-- oh, I saw red!” She was turning red now, too. 

Anne was breathing heavy, the pupils of her eyes blown wide, drowning the brown with black. Her hand was gripping the chair arm. “Anne, did you hit him? With-” 

“What, with this?” She asked, holding up the weapon in question. “No. That, I cracked over his groom’s head. And I’d do it again. And, oh, I tried to but Mr. Rawson tried to pull me back. Put his hands on me, he did. And that’s when I bit him. I bit him so hard, Anne. I wanted him to bleed for what they did to you!” The parasol was loosed from her hands, sent clattering to the wall. Her hand flew up to her mouth, jumping in her surprise, suddenly remembering herself. She turned, slowly, looking back to Miss Lister, to a woman who could scarcely move for shock. “I… I only... I only meant to, to shut him up… to… oh, dear…” Her righteous fury was fading, and fast. “You must be cross with me, but… I wouldn’t let… I couldn’t let him carry on. Not when I could… do something.” She was trembling all over, body poisoned with anger’s toxin. 

Anne was rising, taking the blanket off her lap. 

“Anne, you mustn’t--” she squeaked as she met her half way, taking herself into her arms as the blanket was draped around them both. 

“Shh… shhh…” She led them to the couch, holding her hand and kissing her fingers, one by one. “You… are the most… incredible… perfect… person.” She kissed her palm, and the back of her hand. And her wrist. Her neck, and the hair behind her ear. “My warrior, my little lion…” She nipped at her skin and chuckled. 

A shudder passed through Ann. She was crying again and laughing as well, shoulders shaking as she inhaled the scent of Anne and kissed her neck in return. “You aren’t… mad?” 

“No, no… I should be furious, but-” She pulled back, hand cupping her face, her own head tilting. Her tongue peeked from behind her teeth, running across before grazing the corner of her lip, drawing it in to bite in thoughtful contemplation. 

“...But?” 

“But…” she sighed, leaning to rest her forehead on Ann’s. “...I am far too hopelessly in love with you.” 

Gasping, and melting with a whine, Ann clasped her face in her hands and kissed her. And kissed her. And Anne kissed her back a million times more, all the pain in her face forgotten as she fell into bliss. 

“...Yes,” said Ann, quietly, as if praying against her mouth. 

“Yes?” Anne asked.

“Yes. My answer, to you. Is yes.” She smiled, eyes alight with hope and happiness.

Anne had to pause, pulling back to see if she could believe what she was hearing. Her chest heaved as she licked her lips. “Are you cert-”

“Yes!” Ann threw her arms around Anne’s neck, holding her close, kissing her wherever she could. “Yes. And yes. Forever, yes.”

And Anne Lister, crying for joy, could only repeat her vow. “Yes... forever, yes.”


End file.
